


Talking

by LillyWhitefield



Category: Call the Midwife
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Married Life, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Post Season/Series 7, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-17
Updated: 2018-07-17
Packaged: 2019-06-11 20:33:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,553
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15323757
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LillyWhitefield/pseuds/LillyWhitefield
Summary: Shelagh and Patrick lead busy lives, and sometimes don't see each other very often.After too long, the heat rises.





	Talking

**Author's Note:**

> Hi, I'm a long time lurker in this fandom, but not new to writing fanficiton. I used to post to Tumblr mostly, under a different name. I thought I was done with fanfic, but this idea would not leave me alone so here it is. I'm still not happy with the very end, I might change it later. Hope you like it :)

Shelagh and Patrick hadn’t spoken in days. With Shelagh’s return to Nonnatus, she was often working odd hours. It just seemed to work out that only one of them was ever home. This weekend was looking to be particularly busy, so Granny Parker was watching the children for a few days. 

It was likely the last day Shelagh would have to ride around Poplar for the entire day, as there were so few births scheduled that might happen in the next week. She parked her bike next to the porch, thinking she hopefully would take it back tomorrow evening when she was due for the night shift. She climbed the steps to her home, opened the door, and stepped inside. As she removed her cape, she noticed the kitchen light was on. Curious, she thought, one of the children must have left it on. Preparing to huff and puff to herself, and mentally preparing to chastise whoever left the light on all day (Probably Tim, she thought), she rounded the corner and fully entered the living space. 

Shelagh started, not expecting to see a dark figure silhouetted in her kitchen. Patrick was home and awake, and leaning against the counter, eating a hastily made sandwich, judging by the ingredients sitting out and his lack of plate. His waistcoat and tie were already removed. 

“Oh! Hello dear! I wasn’t expecting you to be home!” Shelagh said, removing her cardigan and hat. Her nurse uniform was covered in what Patrick assumed was amniotic fluid and blood, but she was smiling and cheerful, so he figured that the day of birthing babies was uneventful.

“Yes, I think every mother in Poplar that was set to give birth in the next two weeks has had their baby early,” Patrick said, slightly exasperated. His eyes had large purple bags from lack of sleep, and he had the remnants of a sandwich on a plate next to him on the counter. 

“I think so too, there’s been so many calls that us nurses have done some difficult births on our own, when we should’ve had someone assist. I’m just so thankful that we lost no babies these past few days.”

A heavy silence filled the kitchen. Shelagh smiled a tired half smile, and made her way to the bread box. She grabbed two slices, and as she made her way across the kitchen to the cold cuts and mustard sitting out Patrick gently reached for the hand not holding food. 

“I feel as though I haven’t spoken to you in ages. I miss you,” he sighed, kissing her palm lightly. 

“I don’t think I’ve seen you awake in a week, dear,” Shelagh whispered gently, setting the bread slices down on the counter. 

“I’m not sure what day it is, I don’t think I can confirm that,” Patrick breathed, leaving small, light kisses on her wrist and moving so slowly up her arm. 

“I think it’s Sunday now, it’s after midnight,” Shelagh was trying to keep her voice level, but her breath was coming in quiet pants as Patrick continued his delicate kisses up her forearm, meeting the sleeve of her uniform. His other hand started slipping around her waist, gently pulling her closer to him. Her other hand moved to Patrick’s face, carefully tilting it up to look at her. “The children won’t be back until much later tonight.”

That was all Patrick needed. He fully grasped her in his arm, pulling her against his front. Shelagh let out a small Oh! of surprise before he grasped her neck and jaw and kissed her soundly. Her hands moved to his hair, grasping and tugging it, causing Patrick to rumble low in his throat. His callused fingers wove their way into her styled hair, the pins pulling at her scalp. 

Shelagh pulled away for a moment, leaving Patrick confused until she started removing pin after pin after pin. “God, woman, how many pins does it take to style your hair?”

“More when I’m riding around on a bike and helping women give birth at all hours of the day,” Shelagh said lightly, a smirk in her voice. She pulled probably a dozen pins out so far, and there were still more she was searching for. Patrick’s hands waited on her hips, pressing his hardness into her. He fidgeted with her belt, unable to determine how it came off, otherwise he would have removed it and undressed his beautiful wife. Shelagh pulled out one last pin, releasing the front of her hair to fall into her face. It still held some curl and volume, from the hairspray she used. Her honey brown hair caught the pale kitchen light, shimmering lightly gold. Her blue eyes twinkled with her smile, and her hands reached up to cup his face, his stubble scratching her palms. 

“How did I ever get so lucky, my love?” Patrick ducked his head slightly to access her lips, pressing his tongue against her mouth. She sighed, dropping her hands to curl around his neck and shoulders, opening her mouth for him. Tongues tangling, pushing against each other, Patrick squeezed his wife against his body with his arms, pressing her into the counter. Shelagh slipped her hands in between them to remove her belt, and left it on the surface behind her. She started unbuttoning her uniform when Patrick suddenly released her. With a Cheshire grin, he looked at Shelagh’s confused face before sweeping one arm under her legs, lifting her up, and cradling her in his arms. 

“Patrick! Don’t strain yourself!”

“It’s not as if you’re that heavy, darling.”

Patrick began walking over to the stairs, a blush creeping up Shelagh’s face and neck. She decided to take advantage of her position and leave light kisses on his jaw and ears. So gently, she pressed her lips to his light stubble, causing him to release a loud breath of air. She tangled her fingers in his hair again as he started up the steps, still lightly kissing spots on his jaw. When he reached the top of the landing, Shelagh used her hands in his hair to turn his face to hers and gently, slowly, kiss him on his lips. He stopped, and sighed beautifully. Shelagh pulled away, and smiled as she leisurely opened her eyes to her husband. He was standing there, in the hallway, eyes still closed, and a look of pure bliss marking his features. 

Patrick blinked open, and saw his wife with a tender smile, which he promptly returned. He turned from her gaze to look toward the bedroom, and continued to carry Shelagh through the door frame. Once inside, he slowly placed her feet on the floor, and shut the door out of habit. 

There were no children tonight. So often these past few months, since Teddy was born, their lovemaking, if there was any at all, was quick, perfunctory, just scratching an itch. This time, there could be no interruptions. No calls, no children, no crying, no bassoon-playing, only Patrick and Shelagh, enjoying each other. 

It was so rare that Shelagh took huge initiatives in the bedroom that Patrick was startled when she pushed him onto their bed with a contradicting soft smile. 

“How were your patients today, Patrick? Anything interesting happen at the surgery?” Shelagh asked, while gradually, deliberately unbuttoning the rest of her uniform to reveal her cream lace slip underneath. 

Patrick couldn’t do much more than blubber a few no-not-much-not-sure’s while his gaze followed the path of Shelagh’s small fingers. His pants felt uncomfortably tight. 

Once the uniform was unbuttoned, Shelagh let it slip off her shoulders and onto the floor. She removed her glasses, setting them on the bedside table. She then moved forward, and sat on top of her husband, knees on each side of his legs. His hands went to her waist, calluses catching slightly on the satin as his hands moved up and down, fingers lightly touching her ribs, her hips, the sides of her breasts. Shelagh’s fingers went to his braces, and unclipped them.

“Well, it can’t have been that interesting if you’re not sure,” she teased. 

Her work continued on his pants, finally giving some relief to his erection. She glanced at his face. He was staring at her form in awe, his eyes dark and hungry. It took Shelagh’s breath from her lungs. 

“I’ve had quite the day myself, I think,” she whispered.

As Patrick started to move her slip up her body to take it off, her fingers went to his shirt buttons, slipping each one through it’s hole to reveal Patrick’s skin. 

“Have you, dear?” Patrick murmured. 

She stopped so her slip could be fully removed, but went right back to the last two buttons. Patrick, meanwhile, had unclipped Shelagh’s stockings and was attempting to remove her girdle with little success. 

“Why is it in all the years we’ve been married now, I still cannot remove this thing,” Patrick grumbled.

Shelagh giggled, “I’m not sure, dear, I think three-quarters of the time it’s already removed for you.”

She stood up again to remove the undergarment, and Patrick took the opportunity to take out his cufflinks and fully remove his shirt. She had removed her nylons and was still struggling to squeeze out of the girdle when he looked to her again, so he stood up and removed the rest of his clothing as well, and situated himself in a prone position on the bed, hands folded over his stomach, smiling at his wife. 

Shelagh began to wonder if she could get away with never wearing a girdle again when it was finally past her hips and slid down to the floor. Left in her knickers and bra, she turned back to Patrick and saw his smile first, and his, erm, well, that, second. 

Somehow, she still felt this nervous excitement whenever she saw his nude form. He had put on some weight after the birth of Teddy, but it didn’t affect how aroused she became when she saw his chest, his hips, his thighs. 

The sight of him, completely nude and ready for her, never failed to set her heart beating faster, her breath coming in pants, her skin tingling all over. 

“Just take the rest off, too, Shelagh,” Patrick exhaled, eyes shining. The way her name whispers out of his mouth makes her remember just how much he loves her. 

As she removed her remaining undergarments, she held his heated gaze. Her fingers first reaching behind her to quickly unhook her bra, letting it slip off her arms and fall next to her other clothes. Patrick’s dark eyes moved to her breasts, lightly blushed with desire. Shelagh pushed her knickers down her legs, stepped out of them, and stood bare in the blue moonlight for her husband. 

Shelagh crawled onto their bed, and straddled her husband, his erection fitting between her folds. Patrick groaned, reaching for her hips, eyes lingering on her pale, smooth, beautiful skin.

“I saw that Rhoda Mullucks was due to stop in today. How is little Susan?” Shelagh asked in a hushed, raspy voice, her proper diction slipping away with each sentence. She started rocking slowly, grinding herself along Patrick’s hard length. 

“I don’t-I don’t know, I can’t—alright, I think? Oh god, Shelagh,” Patrick tried to spit out an answer, but found it difficult to articulate any words due to his wife’s actions. Her small hands rested on his chest for balance as she undulated her hips, forward and backward. She was sitting straight up, her breasts bouncing gently with every movement, prompting Patrick to slide his hands from her hips upward, grasping at her flesh, running his thumbs gently over her nipples. Shelagh quietly gasped, and desire flooded all of Patrick’s senses completely, sending shocks and tingles over his slightly sweaty skin. 

“That’s great, Patrick. I—I’m sure you’ll elaborate—oh—late-later,” Shelagh panted. Patrick had moved one hand to leave scratches down her back, and used the hand still on her breast to pinch her nipple, sending a wave of electricity to her core. 

Patrick smirked at his wife’s dominance slipping away with his touch. “The Smith baby must have been delivered smoothly,” he said evenly as his hands moved to grip himself, maneuvering his length to her slick entrance, just barely touching her lips, “last I checked the baby was breech. Did baby flip on his own, or did he require assistance?” 

Shelagh attempted to push her hips down onto him, but his left hand had a tight grip on her waist that prevented her from moving enough. She whined. “Oh, Patrick, please—” 

“How was the birth, Shelagh?” Patrick asked firmly, his eyes twinkling.

Shelagh sighed, exasperated, desperately wiggling her hips against his tip. “It was a girl, and she’d flipped before I’d—OH!” Patrick had thrust himself into her, sending shocks of pleasure up her spine, down her legs, and all the way through to her fingertips resting on his chest. He continued at a pounding pace. Her back arched in pleasure, high moans leaving her lips with every thrust up into her. 

Still seemingly unfazed, Patrick said, “That’s fortunate, not that you couldn’t have handled yourself, my love, but I’ve been quite busy this week. So many babies that needed help, so many illnesses.” He moved his hands from her waist, the right one going to grip her hip, guiding her rhythm, and the left going to her breast to cup and gently massage the delicate flesh. 

“Oh—Of c-course. Very bus-busy—ugnh,” Patrick had shifted her back by grasping her hands and placing them behind her on his thighs. Every thrust was pulling her closer to the edge, the feel of his hands on her body amplifying the electricity flowing through her veins. 

Patrick was close as well. Watching his beautiful wife’s breasts bounce above his face, the look of concentration as she chased her orgasm, it was pushing him to a precipice. He reached his right hand to her lower lips, his nimble fingertips finding the nub that never failed to bring her to pieces, and stroked it, watching Shelagh’s face.

It was more than enough to cause her to cry out in ecstasy, pleasure bursting from her core through her whole body, her vision turning white and her grip on her husband’s thighs leaving half-moons from her fingernails. Her cries and the tightening of her walls on his length sent Patrick over the edge, grunting as his seed spilled into her. 

Both panting and covered in sweat, Shelagh lifted herself off Patrick as he reached for a rag in their bedside table. When she’d settled on the bed next to him, he turned to his side so he could kiss her neck as he handed her the rag so she could clean herself. 

“I’ve missed you,” Patrick whispered into her neck. When she handed the rag back, he quickly cleaned off before throwing the rag on the floor and turning back to his wife. He threw an arm around her waist, and she sighed as she settled into his embrace, turning slightly into his chest, arms curled in between them. 

“I’ve missed you, too.” 

There would be no sleep before the children arrived in the morning, the two lovers finally able to lose themselves in one another.


End file.
